March 1962, Age 10

Birren Avenue looks kinda dead, so the gang has decided to start playing great baseball with or without the usual crowds attending. The usual crowds were a bunch of losers who were real terrible at baseball. Sometimes there were as many as three. It was unusually warm, and we were drinking in the sun when Carl arrived riding his pet pig.  He jumped off and tied his ride to a nearby hedge tree and assumed his new position as shortstop. It was then that we noticed the dozens of flies trying to land on his head. We all used Butch Wax on our flattops and experienced no flies around us. Carl was from a hog farm just outside of town. He used Lard on his hair because he thought it was cheaper, and he had plenty of it. It must have been the tiny bacon bits in his lard that drew the flies. We suggested that as summer was drawing near, he could borrow Buttfaces Butch Wax to avoid any embarrassment... the pet pig was enough!

We played with a new baseball gifted to Crusty at Christmas. All was going along as expected until George Hiden came into the field and stole the ball. He left like a bullet as we stood slack-jawed watching him run out of view. Coming to our collective senses, we knew exactly where he was going. George, the town’s sheepdog, was known for his friendly nature and was loved by everyone around. He would often go downtown and receive handouts from most businesses and end up later at the Pearce school baseball diamond watching the all-day games. His greatest weakness behind free food was the taste of baseball leather. George had a great nose for both. The gang swiftly got on the bicycles and tore down the avenues, but Carl had a problem with his pig being unloosed from the square knots used to fasten it to the tree. He was about 15 minutes behind the gang. We all eventually got to the other ball diamond and scanned the field for George. There he was in center field!  A line drive was hit right to him, and he gave chase, knocking the center field guy down as George made an outstanding catch. Carl was still mounted on his pig, and the pig, seeing George bolt to centerfield, Carl was gracefully riding along. Hard to gracefully ride a pig as it takes weeks of practice, we were told. George and the pig curled their lips, squaring off, and Carl, sensing there might be trouble, hugged his pig while still in the pig saddle. George smelled Carl’s lard hair, dropped the ball, and briefly thought Carl was another free meal. The pig saw his opportunity and dashed to the baseball. We all knew pigs would eat anything, and George would never turn down bacon bits. It became a blur of squeals and growls, turning in very tight circles and kicking up lots of dust. Carl held on for his life. Carl would not need a haircut for that upcoming summer.

In the end of the fight, everyone was happy. George was very happy. The pig saw that the game of baseball had its own rewards... a nice new taste of horsehide. We returned to our own game and played with a new appreciation of various and simple things in life. Carl bought a used Schwinn that next week. He sold the pig to pay for it. Carl gave up his lard bucket also. It’s going to be a great season after all. That pig must have sold for lots of money. Ya just can’t find a pig that one can ride.... very uncommon even in my town!

Hug your pig and love your neighbor.
Simple joys are the best.
Nelly